


Here For You

by HomunculusTrashParty



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Bromance, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-29
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-09-29 17:53:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17208116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HomunculusTrashParty/pseuds/HomunculusTrashParty
Summary: Connor did as it was asked, and that was when Hank knew there was something wrong.





	Here For You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aoitennyo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aoitennyo/gifts).



Connor had looked like it’d seen a ghost.

Hank had never seen it look so shaken before. Granted, he hadn’t been robot babysitter for long, and at times, it really did feel like babysitting—exactly how many goddamn times did he have to tell Connor not to run into the fucking street? But he knew something had happened. It had tried to explain to Hank at the time, but it had been trembling, its head twitching, like it wasn’t firing on all cylinders or something.

Hank had huffed a sigh to cover up the genuine worry he was feeling and led the android out of the building. Connor had insisted it was fine and tried to break from Hank’s grasp, but it got the memo pretty quickly that this was happening and there was nothing to be done about it. Connor was so much like Cole in those moments—fiercely independent, yet absolutely in need of someone to make sure it stayed out of trouble. When the hell had Hank become that someone? Fuck. He couldn’t even keep _himself_ out of trouble.

He packed the still-silent android into the passenger’s seat of his car, glancing at Connor’s LED. It was spinning yellow and had been for a while. Did that mean it was thinking? Talking to someone? Hank really needed to download a manual for how to deal with these things. His eyes fell over the insignia on Connor’s jacket—model RK800. Maybe if the poor bastard didn’t snap out of it, he’d look up that manual tonight. After one more concerned glance, Hank crossed around the front of the car and got in the driver’s side, starting the engine and shifting the car into gear. Connor’s head lolled slightly toward the window, like it was asleep, though Hank knew better. He’d been a father for long enough.

As Hank made his way back to his house, halfway-catatonic android in tow, he cursed the weather twice in his head and the shitty drivers on the road three times out loud. Flurries blew wildly about before them, and Hank grit his teeth; there was no way he was pulling over right now to scrape the damn ice off his windshield. He cranked the heat and reached forward to wipe the condensation off the glass. At a stoplight, he glanced over; Connor didn’t stir. _Oh, shit._ Maybe there was something actually _wrong_ with the thing.

Sighing and muttering to himself, he pulled into the driveway. Hank got out and opened the car door for Connor. “Come on.” Wordlessly, it shakily got to its feet and remained at Hank’s side until he was finished locking the car and had fished his keys out of the bottomless pocket of his worn, dirty jeans. Hank opened the front door with a glance over his shoulder to make sure Connor had followed him and wasn’t still standing there in a daze next to the car—he couldn’t catch a cold, but surely sub-freezing temperatures weren’t ideal for his… gears, or circuits, or whatever. 

Hank kicked off his shoes carelessly as he entered, ignoring the snow and mud caked to them, and turned to Connor, who was looking off into the distance; Hank wondered if there was something there, but no, it was just watching the snowflakes fall. Well, it could do that inside. “Get in here, it’s fucking freezing,” Hank admonished. “Sumo, sit!” he shouted at the dog, who had popped out of nowhere to greet them. 

Connor did as it was asked, and that was when Hank knew there was _definitely_ something wrong with it.

“Go. Sit on the couch,” Hank ordered, “I’m gonna take Sumo out. Wait here.” Connor complied, neatly removing its shoes after Hank’s example. Sumo leapt up at him excitedly, and he grabbed the leash hanging by the door, attached it to the dog’s collar, and they went out.

After ten minutes of freezing his ass off and telling his dog to hurry the hell up, Hank came back inside, hung up his jacket and went into the kitchen. Connor had sat down, relaxing back into the couch cushions, its head falling back a little. It definitely looked more relaxed now. That was good, he supposed. 

He poured some dry dog food for Sumo, who appreciatively shuffled over to his bowl. Opening the refrigerator, Hank pulled out two beers, snapping off the caps and tossing them on the counter. The place was a bit messy, but it was just Connor—it would be a cold day in hell before he tidied up just for a machine.

Hank came into the living room and grabbed the edge of the coffee table, pulling it closer as he sat down on Connor’s right. Connor’s LED was still yellow. “What, you still frozen? I didn’t think androids could freeze. Thought they solved that problem.”

“I’m not frozen,” Connor stated quietly, the first words it had spoken since the incident earlier that day and what little information it had managed to glean from the deviant. It was staring ahead and down, at a spot on the floor. Hank studied it. Connor looked like a war veteran, like it’d been traumatized or something. _I felt it die. I was scared..._ Was that possible? Could androids be traumatized? He wasn’t paid enough for this shit.

Taking a long gulp of his beer, he offered the other one to Connor without thinking. The android blinked at him slowly, and Hank sheepishly put the beer down on the coffee table.

“So what happened? If you aren’t frozen, then what’s going on?” Hank got to his feet—it was too fucking dark and the eerie glow of Connor’s jacket was starting to give him the creeps. He switched on a lamp nearby and grabbed the TV remote, turning it on and setting it on mute. Colors flashed across Connor’s pale face; its hands were on each knee, which didn’t look too comfortable, but Hank supposed robots weren’t all that concerned with comfort. He sat down again.

“I initiated a connection with the deviant in order to obtain information,” Connor explained slowly.

“A connection, huh? How does that work?” Hank thought back to the days of dial-up connections and shuddered.

“Androids are able to communicate in several ways,” Connor began, as though it were about to rattle off a bunch of facts Hank didn’t care about, but it had evidently learned in their short time together how to be brief. “I probed its memory by linking our arms together. But the deviant shot itself while I was connected to it,” Connor continued. “I...”

It dawned on Hank, then, what had happened, and he suddenly felt cold. “You said you felt it die,” he added. Connor’s LED flickered red for a moment, then back to yellow. Was it still thinking, or processing or whatever the fuck it was called? He really did need to get that manual.

“Yes,” Connor said, its voice barely above a whisper.

“Did it hurt?” Hank felt stupid suddenly—of course it didn’t hurt, he was a fucking machine. Machines couldn’t feel pain… could they?

“I don’t know,” Connor admitted. “It was scared, scared to die. I felt scared—I felt its fear.”

Hank stared at Connor, and their eyes met. It really was uncomfortable how human Connor looked—so real, like a real person. It was easy to forget, in moments like these. The skin was so lifelike, complete with fucking robot stubble, and with every day Connor’s movements were less mechanical and more… natural. 

“Are you afraid now?” he found himself asking. 

Connor sat still for a moment, thinking—processing—whatever. The LED blinked. “No. Or, at least, I don’t think so. I’m not supposed to feel fear. It’s not in my programming.”

The sudden nervous look in Connor’s eyes tugged at him. “Hey. Everyone gets scared sometimes. It’s part of being—” Hank cut himself off sharply. What had he been about to say? Human?

_Alive?_

“Amanda will be disappointed,” Connor replied, somewhat glumly, unless Hank was imagining it. Then again, he’d just learned tonight that androids could feel fear, so who the fuck knew what was real and what wasn’t anymore.

“Amanda?” That wasn’t a name Hank was familiar with. There were no Amandas at the DPD, or at least not anyone important enough that Connor would be concerned. He took another pull from his beer.

“I am required to keep CyberLife updated with our progress,” Connor explained, stiffening slightly. That wasn’t the answer to Hank’s question, but he got the feeling that ‘Amanda’ shouldn’t have been shared with him to begin with, so he let it go.

“So what’s CyberLife going to do when they find out you felt something?” Hank asked, watching Connor carefully. He’d been reading a lot of emotion into Connor’s actions in the past few minutes and while it was likely that it was some kind of projection or delusion, he was growing less and less certain. “You won’t be shut down, will you?”

Connor’s eyes widened.

“We’re finally getting somewhere on this case,” Hank declared at the television. “They better not send you back now.”

“I am uncertain whether I will be required to undergo maintenance at CyberLife. Hopefully, I won’t need to take any time off from the case.”

Hank sighed in frustration. “Connor, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean, Lieutenant?” Connor asked, and Hank turned to look at it just in time to see one eyebrow lift quizzically. So humanlike. They even programmed sarcasm into androids now.

“I don’t want them messing with you just because you touched a deviant,” Hank snapped.

Connor’s brown eyes widened slightly. “If I am damaged, I will need to be repaired—”

“Fuck, Connor, having _one moment_ of human empathy doesn’t make you _damaged.”_ There was possibly too harsh an edge in his voice. It’d been a stressful day. Hank pounded the rest of his beer, put the empty back on the table, and picked up the one he’d accidentally offered to Connor. _Androids drinking beer. That’ll be the day._

The two of them sat in silence for a few minutes. There was a hockey game on TV, and Hank’s fingers itched to unmute it, but he knew the right thing to do was make sure Connor was okay. 

“Can I ask you a personal question, Lieutenant?”

Hank snorted. “Go ahead.” 

“Do you feel fear often?”

Hank frowned, having not expected such a deep question, and turned to Connor. He was astonished to see that it looked… uncertain. Troubled?

Hank looked away, fixing his stare on the TV once more. “Dunno about _often_ , but from time to time, sure. Everyone does.” He paused, sipping his beer; it was a convenient out while he fumbled for the right words. He’d never been any good at this—fatherhood had felt like one big clumsy session of winging it, to say the least. “Maybe you’re part of everyone now,” he added, intending sarcasm, yet as the words left him to hang in the air between them, he realized that they had been sincere.

He glanced back over, to see that Connor was beaming at him, the smallest beginning of a smile at the corners of his mouth. The LED at his temple was blue. “Lieutenant—”

“Just call me Hank, we’re not at work,” he cut in, watching as Connor’s tiny smile relaxed into a more natural one. Did he have to practice that, or did it just… happen? 

“Hank,” Connor corrected himself, tentatively. “I need to make a report to CyberLife. What should I tell them about the incident with the deviant? Should I ask them if I’ve been compromised?”

“Fuck no,” Hank replied, frowning at Connor and tossing back his beer, then shifting his position on the couch. “That’s off the record. They don’t need to know. The feds are breathing down our necks enough as it is without CyberLife up our asses about this shit too. It’s fine, Connor. I won’t tell on you.” He reached over and clapped a hand on Connor’s shoulder.

Connor gave a very slight nod, then his eyelids fluttered, LED blinking from blue to yellow and back to blue again. “I’ve sent the report. You know… you have a peculiar manner of speaking, Hank.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He could see frost forming around the edges of the window to the left of the TV, and realized it had gotten chilly inside. 

“I have had to do significant research to understand some of your colloquialisms.” Connor smirked at him. “Fortunately, adapting to human behavior is one of my specialties.”

Hank snorted again, and finished his beer. “You should use that line when we’re out at bars. Bet the human women would get a kick out of it.” He scratched his beard. Two beers weren’t quite enough to take the edge off, but he was well on his way. “You feeling better, Connor? I mean… you’re not stressed anymore?”

“I’m fine, Hank,” Connor reassured him. 

“Good. I’m going to bed. I’m fuckin’ beat. No,” he said, holding out a hand to stop Connor from getting to his feet. “Just stay here tonight. It’s fine. You can stay on the couch and… power down or whatever.” 

Connor smiled up at him. “Thank you. Good night, Hank.”

Hank clapped his shoulder again. “Good night, Connor. Come on, Sumo. Time for bed.” 

They headed for the hallway, and as Sumo shambled past him in search of a cozy place to curl up, Hank stole one last glance at the back of Connor’s head before retreating into his bedroom.

_Who knows. Maybe he really is alive._


End file.
